


The Dance of Eagle and Hawk

by Katsuko_Saeki



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Family Problems, M/M, Slash, Yaoi, my own chronology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsuko_Saeki/pseuds/Katsuko_Saeki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darim returns to Masyaf and is quite shocked to see another person at Altaïr’s side , especially if this person looks very much alike as one deceased man. It will be long road for Darim and Tazim to just stand each other. The fact that Tazim is Altaïr new lover do not help, when Darim finds himself drawn to the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dance of Eagle and Hawk

**Author's Note:**

> It was created because of the prompt from dreamwidth that I have found. It was so nice I wanted to read something like that really badly, unfortunately no one did it. So why not?  
> Prompt: Tazim reminds Altaïr of Malik a little too much (the fact that he took his father's name doesn't help), and so he finds himself in a sort of déjà vu relationship with Malik's son. But at the same time Darim realizes his own affections for Tazim and can't help but try to steal him away from his own father. Cue poor Tazim being stuck with not one, but two Ibn-La'Ahads with their ridiculous pride and inability to deal with their emotions.
> 
> And important notes about my own chronology!  
> As far as I liked the story of the game and the books, I hate that it was so stretched in time. A big no. The chronology in this story is the same. But there are a couple of things that should be mentioned before reading. One. Really, 90 years of life in XIII century? That’s quite a feat, especially for an assassin. You really think, Altaïr would be able to live that long with his ability to attract problems? Yes, I know he had an Apple. I don’t really care. Two. To have a son at the age of 60 is also somewhat doubtful. Congratulations Malik, your wife had to be younger than 50. Like hell I would like it. So between Darim and Tazim won’t be a 30 years gap... He could be his father in the real story. T_T It would be about 18-years at most. He still could be his father, but I give up with too much logic. So when they met, it would be 17 for Tazim and 35 for Darim... Okey, so now timeline of proper AC storyline and the second modified by me.
> 
> Proper AC Chronology   
> 1165 - Altaïr’s, Malik’s birth  
> 1191 - Malik’s high rank, Solomon’s Temple, Al Mualim’s death (all in one year!)  
> 1195 - Darim’s birth  
> 1197 - Sef’s birth  
> 1217 - leave for Mongolia  
> 1225 - Sef’s death, Tazim’s birth  
> 1227 - Mongolia at last!  
> 1228 - Malik’s, Maria’s death  
> Darim’s departure to Europe somewhere close to 1247?  
> 1247 - taking back Masyaf, Darim’s return to Masyaf  
> 1257 - Altaïr’s death
> 
> Mine AC Chronology   
> 1165 - Altaïr’s, Malik’s birth  
> 1191 - Malik’s high rank, Solomon’s Temple, Al Mualim’s death  
> 1200 - Darim’s birth  
> 1202 - Sef’s birth  
> 1217 - leave for Mongolia  
> 1218 - Tazim’s birth  
> 1225 - Sef’s death, Tazim’s sisters birth  
> 1227 - Mongolia at last!  
> 1228 - Malik’s, Maria’s death  
> 1231 - Darim’s departure to France  
> 1235 - taking back Masyaf, Darim’s return to Masyaf  
> 1257 - Altaïr’s death
> 
> 1235 - Darim 35, Tazim 17 when they met  
> To achieve this feat I needed to rejuvenate Darim and put some years on Tazim (as well as rejuvenate him because of changing Masyaf reclaiming date). But I still like this one much better.
> 
> Sorry the explaining is so long! Please enjoy.

**The dance of Eagle and Hawk**

Also can be called _Like fathers, like sons._

Chapter 1 - Prologue of new generation

* * *

When he had entered Altaïr’s study for the first time after reclaiming Masyaf, it was not his father that have captivated his attention. It was the boy. He couldn’t have more than twenty years. He had dark dusty skin, black short hair and cold dark-brown eyes that spared him not more than a second. On his face there was sharp, beak nose and puckered lips that looked more like a thin line than actual lips. There was even the characteristic right hand on a hip to show displeasure. The only thing to ruin a picture was left hand, which was holding up some scrolls to the chest of a boy. Well, he was certainly younger than in the day of Solomon’s Temple, but certainly, there was no mistake. There stood Malik. Very young Malik, but Malik none the less.

Darim took a while to calm himself and not lash in anger at his father, whom he did not see for about five years. He did not want for the first words between them for such a long time to be accusation. Well, the crime was obvious. His father used the apple to bring here a young version of Malik, or it could be illusion cast on someone. But certainly, there was no way for him to find such a perfect copy of his deceased friend.

Altaïr didn’t say anything, even though he knew that his son was at the top of the stairs. His senses as sharp as ever for all these years. He waited, scribbling something down. Maybe because he wanted Darim to pick up his courage or it was desire to finish what he was writhing but the most probable was the scowl of the boy, that formed on his brow as if knowing that a man would loved to throw the scroll out of the window. The grandmaster’s hand had stopped and his son took the chance.

“Father. I have returned.” _To you_ \- lingered in the air, but it wasn’t spoken.

The head was raised and Darim saw the face of much older man than he remembered. But there was a gold spark in the hazel eyes. A real spark of life and not a obsession with a powerful artefact.

 “I can see... still.” A small smile graced dry lips hidden under white beard. There was a pause, when he had passed the scroll to the boy and have risen from the chair. “English bureau had sent message. You must be tired from the journey. ”

“I could use a bath. But firstly I would like to talk with you. It was so long.”

“That would be wonderful, but I also didn’t lost my smell. We can spent some time together after you rest and eat.”  Raspy short laugh had graced younger Ibn-La’Ahad ears. He had missed it so much and wasn’t the least angered that his father made fun of him.

“Should I then ask to prepare a meal for one or more people, Grandmaster?” The voice of the boy was quiet from one of the bookshelves, where he put away scrolls. Darim could say it was  filled with a much respect for the elder, if he didn’t know better his uncle. No. It certainly was filled with something akin to awe. And as he heard from his father and mother in jokes, Al-Sayf would die before bowing down to any other person, such was his pride. Then it couldn’t be his uncle. More likely an illusion or maybe his father did find a miracle in a surprisingly likeness of the boy to the deceased.

“Ah, right. For two, as I won’t need your assistance for the rest of the day. You should use this time for yourself...” There was a pause, like Altaïr was hesitant to what say next. “Malik.”

“Father!” He found his voice shouting, before he could think of it. “How could you?!”

The elder looked confused and maybe he really didn’t know what was it about. Also a young “Malik” had one of brows raised. Was he the one, who made a mistake? No. It couldn’t be. Maybe it wasn’t the dead brought to life, but certainly there was something wrong happening in here.

“You used the _Apple_ , didn’t you?”

His father looked hurt and his confidence shook slightly.

“If you accuse me of studying it even after all this time, then you are right. But that’s not something you should be surprised about. Wasn’t it a reason why you left at all?

“The reason why I left was YOU, not the apple. And don’t change the topic. I’m not talking about studying it, I’m talking about using it.”

Altaïr had to understand the difference, because Darim was sure that under the white beard, his face became red.

“You know about my vow, after your mother’s death. You think I would fall down so much, as to break it?” His father voice was more like a whisper from between the teeth, but the anger was apparent.

“You say, you didn’t, but how can you, when the evidence is right here.”

“I do not see the evidence you are speaking of, my son, so you should mark your words now to not enrage me further.”

“Then tell me, what is HE doing here?” He pointed at very much confused boy. But it was not his father that took the bait.

“You have a problem with me being here?!” The youngest of the trio in a blink of eye moved in front of the older man. “How dare you?! You wasn’t even here when Masyaf was reclaimed, but now that you had came back, you not only accuse your own father, but also people you don’t know!”

Darim had to step back, when the dark skinned finger started to poke him in the chest quite painfully. Anger was oozing from the gestures and so young voice. You should never take lightly a Al-Sayf man.

“If you were not a Grandmaster’s son, I would kill you on the spot. Wait. I do not care that you are his son. Altaïr give me permission to teach this fool a lesson in a ring.” But oh the great Grandmaster was busy, clutching his stomach and trying to stop laughing that came out as muffled sound. “Altaïr! That it not in the least funny. Get hold of yourself or I will.”

That had only managed to worsen the situation, as the elder wasn’t able to contain his laughter anymore and it burst from his throat. The panicked boy was by his side in an instant to aid him if necessary.

And Darim could only think what joke had he missed. Maybe his father really hadn’t use an apple, but just studied it. He had heard from his uncle there was one incident when his dad studied the artefact and in a result there was not one Altaïr, but a whole bunch of them. Malik called this the worst day in his life. And it really had to be, if it beat the Solomon’s Temple episode.

The Grandmaster slowly regained his composure and the playful golden glint had already returned to his eyes. Younger Ibn-La’Ahad wondered what mess had he gotten into.

“Excuse mine outburst. It just reminded me of times, when your father scowled me in the same way. I deserved it that time, as I remember clearly.” _Father_? Words were aimed at dark-skinned boy. Darim’s eyes had to be big as apples, what Altaïr has noted. “And this little misunderstanding could be avoided, if I remembered proper way of introduction. Let us start again. Darim, I would like you to meet Tazim Ibn-Malik Al’Sayf. If not for him, I doubt that Masyaf would be reclaimed. He took his father name, but it still hard for me to use it.”

Darim took a pause in his father voice to check again this whole situation. It wasn’t his uncle. It was his uncle’s son.

But there was also many questions that whirled around his mind. When was he born? It had to be right after their depart to Mongolia. Had uncle Malik found a wife or maybe the boy was from a whore? He could be eighteen at most, but surely he looked no more than sixteen. Just a right age to become a journeyman. Did he even have a proper training for an assassin with Abbas as a cowardly mentor? And why there was such likeness between him and his father? What was even the reason he took Malik’s name? It seemed like he would like to become his own father. Was he the reason why the will has returned to Altaïr?

“Tazim, please, meet my son, Darim Ibn-Altaïr Ibn-Umar Ibn-La’Ahad. Just call him Darim Ibn-La’Ahad. It’s less confusing that way.”

The younger graced him with a very prideful and colder than ice glare. He sometimes saw such a gaze, when Malik was giving his father a cold shoulder. It didn’t happened a lot, but when it did, no one wanted to be close to any of the two assassins.

“When you talked about him, you didn’t mention he’s a complete idiot.”

He made mistake, but the younger boy had to rub it in his face, didn’t he? Was it how it was for his father for all this years? Certainly a sharp tongue, short temper and too much pride was passed on from Malik to his son. Like hell he will allow to be insulted by a young brat!

“It’s easy to mistake you for someone else, if you don’t want to be yourself.” He sneered in a reply. On Tazim’s face a shock was painted, but only for a short moment, after which followed a retort in a stern voice.

“I took my father’s name, because it’s an honour. And you, do you even know what this word means?”

The bait, the hook and the rod. Darim was caught in a word game. Dangerous word game, because every play in the assassin world could be deadly to one side. But he wasn’t going to step down. Not this time.

“Honour? You are an assassin and you are telling me about honour?” He asked faking a disbelief. “We are epithet of dishonour, taking human lives, creeping in a shadows, striking when no one is expecting.”

“Of course we have honour! If we hadn’t have it, there would be no creed and no tenants. Assassins had taken upon themselves to protect the peace. Is there any dishonour in our mission?”

“Protecting piece by killing people, by using weapons and not the words.”

“We do not kill innocents.”

“We do not, but a kill is a kill none the less. And every taken life has it consequences.”

Tazim remained silent with his serious dark eyes. He knew that the older one was right. Such was their job. Darim had won this argument. Or at least he thought so, till the pressed line of lips did not open once more.

“Maybe being an assassin requires being seen as dishonour creature, but I am not talking about killing itself. I am talking about our action as men. And your flee to West do not spoke of a honour to me.”

This boy! One moment he was defeated, the next he twists everything around. He could become a great politician if he had ever left the order.

“My journey is of no concern to you. But if you must know, it was done to warn an European brothers of Mongolian invasion.”

“Every assassin is of concern to the Brotherhood. We cannot allow for chaos to engulf our ranks. And there are other methods to send a message. A pigeon would do nicely, don’t you think?”

“I do NOT. Pigeon wouldn’t be proper way to pass such important news. It is a long distance and there was a chance it wouldn’t reach its destination.”

Altaïr had sit down. It was quite interesting to listen to a debate from the young minds. Certainly it was refreshing. And somewhat funny with all the gesticulation and raised voice. It was strange it didn’t became a brawl on the floor. He was especially curious if the boys even noticed the change in their way of speaking. There still was a formal speech, but it looked like they were slowly narrowing the gap between them. And they reminded him of his own adolescence and many arguments with both Malik and Maria. 

There was a counter from Ta- Malik of the existence of messengers and another rebut from his son of the secrecy of this information that should not be handled by someone outside brotherhood. The next words he didn’t even registered (he would later blame it on pitched voice of the youngest and dark scowls of Darim’s as well as hotness in the room). He also didn’t noticed when the boys had abandoned the constructive arguments in favour of verbal insults. All the “idiots”, “donkey’s asses” and “jerks” were flying between the two like a ball in some kind of a game. It was a comforting thought that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. But only for a while.

“Enough!” The hand landed with a hollow sound on a wooden desk. Hazel eyes and dark brown turned to Grandmaster. “Your childish bickering will make mine head splinter with headache. Tazim. You know your duties and you’re dismissed.”

The boy throw once more an angry glare at the younger Ibn-La’Ahad, but he nodded his head with quiet murmur of apology. Darim observed as more lithe figure descended stairs slowly and so proudly. And he had a nerve to look at him smugly! Like he did win this argument. He wanted to grit his teeth.

“Try to not make him too mad. It’s me that have to put up with him later.”

He did hear his father request. But it didn’t mean he will obey.

“It’s not my fault, he was behaving like a brat!” He called loudly, towards stairs, titling a bit over a barrier. There was stomping coming from below them. Tazim definitely heard him and took it as a war sign.

“Darim~.” His father’s voice sounded tired. “Are you sure you are thirty two and not twelve?”

Only now had he turned to Altaïr.

“It’s... I’m sorry father. It’s just that... he’s so irritating. Everything about him. That smirk, the cold glaze, the way he walk... his whole posture screams “irritating”.”

But his explaining had the Mentor chuckling.

“I know. Like father, like son.”

Altaïr didn’t wait for his child to ask any question about the meaning of his words. He lead them to the top of the middle tower, where Grandmasters floor were seated. Being Altaïr’s son had some privileges. For example he was going to be accommodate in mentor’s quarters, where is only one bed in the room unlike in bedrooms of other assassins. Even some masters shared a room with their partners if they had one.

The guardian nodded head in a greeting. Raja was a man with a bear-like posture and scars on his face (the courtesy of Swami as it was explained briefly to Altaïr). Most men cringe if he did looked at them. Not many knew he had a gold heart and rarely used his monstrous strength to fight. He usually were taking the afternoon shifts.

After explaining to him that one more person will be living on this floor, Darim could at last put away the journey bag. The main room differed from what he remembered. The most noticeable change was lack of cushions. When he was a child, in one of the corners there always was a big pile of various pillows and blankets, that normally wouldn’t match each other. It was the best place. If his father wasn’t in the official study or training, there was a ninety nine percent you could find him on cushions, sleeping or reading some documents. Uncle Malik would usually join him and there always was a risk of pillow fight between two assassins. The other furniture was on its place. A table, chairs, small drawer.

“Does that means I get to sleep in my old room?” He joked. His father smiled in return.

“In fact, yes. But don’t worry. You won’t need to share it as in the past.”

Before Sef married, they were in the same room. After that, the younger preferred to stay with his family in the village. He told once it was a good exercise in the morning to jog from his house to citadel.

“I wouldn’t mind sharing it.”

His father nodded knowingly. They both missed the boy... He was only twenty-three. He could had lived for so much longer.

“I will remember it for the future.” The smiled cracked on Altaïr’s face once more.

“And I will try to forget about that mischief in your eyes when I am in the hot, wonderful bath.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He only grumbled under nose and moved into a bathroom. As far as he knew, the tube was here even in the time of the previous Grandmaster. Or at least that was what his father had told him. Who knew what improvements he and uncle Malik did to this place.

It could have been even a whole day after, when his father decided knock on the doors. He didn’t wait for the reply, as he walked in. Well, he was the Grandmaster.

“I have all your clothes washed. Or at least the ones that weren’t throw out. Here.” He put on the shelf a new assassin tunic. It was a pristine white in comparison to his own, that looked more like a sandpaper both in colour as well as in touch. Unfortunately, in France the dressing code was different from the one in Syria (if it was there at all) and in England the uniform was so different from his own, he wasn’t even sure there were an assassins. It was almost impossible to get a new one that resembled his old. One time in a France had he gone to the tailor, who looked at him as he was talking Chinese. “And the meal was brought. It will get cold, if you won’t hurry.”

“You don’t have to wait to eat. But I’m already getting out.”

His father gazed at him subtly, when water was dripping from his body.

“I see, you weren’t idling on your journey.”

He also looked at himself. There was certainly more scars than when he departed from Alamut.

“No, I didn’t. There was much to do in France and later in England.”

“I would love to hear about your adventures.”

He looked at his father, while drying himself. Altaïr really looked interested. Not interested like it would be with obsession over knowledge, but like father wanted to know about his child day. He smiled sadly. He needed to get away from his father to know how much their parting had pained him.

He dressed quickly and let his father led to a table, on which the food was already waiting. He dug in it as there was no tomorrow. He wasn’t even aware of his hunger, till a delicious smell reached his nose. Only when his first hunger was quenched and he could eat slower, had he started the conversation he was so much afraid of. 

“I’m sorry father. I...” _couldn’t watch you becoming a hollow shell._ It didn’t escape his lips.

Altaïr knew exactly what it was about.

“No. It had to be done. If you didn’t left maybe I would never thought about returning to Mssyaf.” His father returned sad smile from earlier.

“I left you alone.” Darim once more tried to blame himself. Surely to obtain forgiveness shouldn’t be so easy.

 “But not without the protection of Alamut citadel. And you just as I know that I wanted nothing more than being left alone with Apple. It should be me to ask for forgiveness.” 

“No, it’s...”

“Hush. I know what I’m saying. You had for two years cared for me and yet you are not my wife nor my lover. You are my son and you should be able to live your life as you want it, not caring for an old man, who was consumed by grief. But... I’m glad you have returned to this old man’s side.”

His father was never this good with words. Maybe he felt he needed to change it. There was no wife at his side to sooth his temper nor his Grand Dai to stand in his place for a speech. He learned the hard way. The way of losing everything. But from losing he gained what he needed to survive. Altaïr’s strength was like no one’s.

He still had problems with his own feeling as his voice betrayed it. Darim also was not good at expressing himself. Like father, like son.

 “I should have returned earlier. If you had given me a sign that you plan taking Abbas on, I would not hesitate to return.”

“I would if had planned this. It was more like accident that lead to the main event.” He laughed softly. And then he started to explaining with a grand tale.

It had became dark when the two men were tired from various stories of both sides. Engulfed in them, only when the candles and torched needed to be lit, they became aware of the lateness and fatigue.

That was the first time in whole years that Darim had a content sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy. I hoped that the ones that reached this note are as content as Darim. xD  
> As you can see the first chapter could be a one history, but there still is more. The problem is I don't know when I will write it. Don't worry, I already have one page of the second chapter. But I wouldn't expected it before New Year.   
> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


End file.
